Daylight
by daenerisse
Summary: Years after his recovery, Bucky was assigned as the new Head of Security of the Wakanda International Outreach Center in Oakland. There he meets the son he never knew he had and the woman he never knew he loved.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

A small Asian woman left the reception desk after acquiring a visitor's pass, eyes scanning the lobby of the Wakanda International Outreach Center in search of her godchild. A small number of people littered the place –most of them of African descent. She caught sight of the olive-skinned boy near the elevator. Little Jamie had caught the attention of Nakia and her companions whilst she was occupied at the reception. She recognized the other two as King T'Challa and Princess Shuri –no one can miss the huge framed photograph of them by the entrance, the other two women who looked incredibly badass with their shaven and tattooed head, she guessed, were their guards. A man who could only be Captain America stood by their side. And then there was another man. She could not see his face for he was crouched in front of Little Jamie. He was ruffling her godchild's hair when she reached them.

"James?" She called softly.

Everyone turned to her, including the four year old; a big smile plastered on his face, his blue eyes gleaming with happiness. It was the kind of happiness Lucy had never seen on his godchild's face before. "He is Dada!" He chirped and as if to prove his point, hugged the man in front of him.

A quiet gasp escaped her lips, her whole body tensed at the sight. To say she was shocked was an understatement. It could not be. He could not be that bastard who ran away and left her best friend five years ago. But Lucy be damned if she ever forget that asshole's face, even if he now sported a beard. Everyone seemed amused at the situation but not her. It took all of her willpower to calm herself, she lets out a deep breath and forced out an apologetic smile.

"I'm sorry about that." She offered then took the boy's hand, gently tugging him towards her. The bastard had the audacity to smile at her as he stood up. Acting as if he does not know me, huh?

"It's fine, ma'am." He said.

"James, let's go, mama is waiting for you." Lucy excused herself and the kid. The elevator door opened and before hopping in, Jamie turned to the man one last time and waved.

"Bye, dada!"

Lucy stood inside the elevator, debating with herself on whether she should inform her best friend, Jamaica, of what transpired at the lobby. Everything is going so well in her life now. She is happy and contented with her new life in Oakland after leaving New York. Lucy knows it would shake Jamaica's world if she told her of this encounter, and she would not want that to happen. Granted, Jamie had been longing for a father figure ever since he knew what a father is, and Lucy sees that as Jamie's mother, it breaks Jamaica's heart that he had none.

Still, that bastard, that James Buchanan Barnes has no right to be a father to Little Jamie. _Even if they share first and last names. _He left. And he does not care one bit, it seems. The asshole looked awfully happy with his life. Fuck him. Lucy thought. He will never get near Jamie –and Jamaica for that matter– again.

The _ding_ sound of the elevator pulled her from her thoughts. With Jamie's hand in hers, they stepped out to the floor together and approached the door to Jamaica's office. Lucy decided, as she turned the knob, Jamaica does not need to know.

"Mama!"

The chirping sound put a warm smile on Jamaica's face as she looked up from her desk. Her son ran towards her, arms stretched out. She met him halfway, lowering herself down as she welcomed the boy into a hug. "I missed you, my Jamie." She cooed then gave him a peck on the cheek. "How was school today?"

"We write A-B-C and Teacher Ron give me a star. Look!" The boy raised his left arm to show her the stamp on the back of his hand. It read '_Very good.'_

"Good job, my little doll." She pinched her son's cheeks lightly before giving him another kiss on the forehead. Jamaica turned to Lucy who stood by the door. "Thanks for picking him up." She said. Her best friend looked a little tense. But before she could ask if something was bothering her, she spoke.

"Anything for Jamie." Lucy replied. "Anyway, I'm meeting up with Anna in a while, I'll get going now." She walked towards the two of them and gave them both a hug. "Bye, Jamie, be a good boy." She reminded then left.

Despite the abruptness of it all, she turned to her son again, dismissing her worry. Jamie was unpacking his things on the carpeted floor of her office. He took out his activity book from school then handed it to her mother. The smile on Jamaica's face never faded as she took the object from him. "Let's see your homework for today." She picked him up then sat him on her lap, and together, mother and son scanned the pages, looking for his assigned work.

Jamaica would drop him off at the Child Study Center before going to work. By noon, Lucy would pick him up and bring him to her. After dropping him off in her office, she would help her son with his homeworks, sometimes he would take a nap on the couch, but most of the time she let's him play at the Center's playground, together with the kids of other workers. Nakia, her boss who oversees the Outreach Center, was very considerate to those like her: a single parent.

When Jamaica moved to Oakland, five months pregnant with James, she swore to forget her past and start anew. She thought she would live and die in the jungles of New York. Born and raised in Harlem, Jaimaca is the only offspring of an interracial couple who lived in an old Brownstone. Her father was of African descent. He taught her practically everything she needed to know in life. He was a quiet man with deep thoughts. He loved jazz and she got that from him. It was an olive-skinned immigrant from the Pacific Islands who caught her father's heart. Her mother died when she was born because of complication. He was the only family she had.

Jamaica never inherited her father's ebony skin, which she loved so much. Instead, she got her mother's olive ones. Once, when she lamented about not having his black skin, he said, "It is one of the things I loved about your mother, and I would want for you to love it as well." And she did.

Lucy Lim entered her life when she was in high school. This awkward, skinny, Asian girl had offered Jamaica her dumplings when she tripped and fell over nothing in the cafeteria, her lunch flying everywhere. She remembered having sat there cursing gravity when the smell of steamed meat invaded her nostrils. It was the start of a beautiful friendship. If it were not for her, Jamaica would have withered away the same day her father exhaled out his last breath just months after her graduating from college. It was Lucy who had been there for her when she hit rock-bottom. She offered support and a shoulder to cry on.

Jamaica can never thank her best friend enough. Maybe, it was the fact that both were Asians, which was why they clicked so well. Lucy was estranged from her family because she decided she wanted a girlfriend and not a boyfriend, a wife and not a husband. When Lucy decided to move to Oakland, she wanted for Jamaica to come with her. Jamaica was reluctant to leave Harlem at first but her best friend's incessant persuasion finally got to her. She had promised her she would help her every step of the way, and she did.

She still does. Even after Jamaica had gotten back on her feet. She has a steady job now at the Wakanda International Outreach Center. It was Anna -Lucy's girlfriend- who recommended she apply for the job of Project Coordinator. The Center had just opened then and was in dire need of people. Wakanda, it turns out, is the most technologically advanced nation on Earth. And it is in Africa. It came as a shock to her. Her whole life, she believed the land of her ancestors was nothing but a third-world continent. Jamaica had never been so wrong in her life.

Knocks on her door pulled her back from her thoughts. She gingerly lifted James off of her and sat him down on the carpet beside her table. "Finish your homework, little doll." She instructed just before the door opened, revealing Nakia and a man she has only seen in monitor screens and holograms during meetings.

"Miss Coleman, it is a pleasure to finally meet you personally." The King offered his hand with a smile.

"The pleasure is mine, Your Highness." Jamaica accepted the offered hand and they shared a brief handshake. She then called James over who was watching curiously. The boy approached them and stopped by his mother's side.

He beamed a smile at the King. "I'm James." He stretched his hand out, like he had seen the King do earlier.

"Nice to see you again, little boy. I am T'Challa." The King replied and shook the boy's hand good-naturedly. Jamaica gently nudged him back to his spot.

"Again?" She asked, one brow rose.

"I've had an encounter with the boy earlier. It was interesting, to say the least." He stated, rather amusedly, in his heavily accented speech. She only nodded and smiled in response. Nakia must have sensed her uneasiness with the way her body tensed as she chanced a look at her son.

"Do not worry, sister, it was all good." She assured before stating that they need to go. T'Challa just wanted to meet her. Jamaica remembered when Nakia first introduced her to the King over a video call. She had said,

"Our most efficient partner in the Center."

She felt elated at having praised like that. She was just doing her job, Jamaica had reasoned out. T'Challa thanked her for her efforts nonetheless. Six months later, Nakia approached her at her station, told her to pack her things up and follow her. Jamaica feared the worst as she collected her things and placed them in a box. She did not have much then, just a few files and folders, a couple of pens, and a framed picture of her three-month old son. She followed her boss to the elevator and asked if they were firing her, Jamaica had just gotten back from Maternity Leave the last week. Nakia chuckled before turning to her.

"You will see." She only said as they both reached the 7th floor and Nakia led her in a room. It was completely bare, aside from what looked to be brand-new desk and swivel chair. "Starting today, this will be your office. You are being promoted to Project Manager."

The news brought tears to her eyes. She did not know whether to drop the box or wipe her tears or hug Nakia. In the end, Nakia hugged her, while Jamaica was holding the box, then wiped her tears for her. All her hard work paid off. It humbled her to know that the Wakandans trust her this much.

For the past five years, the Outreach Center had been her home and its people her family. They helped Jamaica rebuild her life. They gave her a sense of purpose. She promised she would not let them down. After all, she is not just doing this for herself and the community.

Jamaica is doing this for him. Amidst all the heartbreaks and struggles she faced, the world gave her the most precious gift she could ever receive, her little doll, James Coleman Barnes.


	2. Chapter 2

_**January 19, 2014**_

Jamaica groaned at the sight before her; stacks of unpaid bills littered her dining table while she holds a disconnection notice in her hands. Add to that the staggering amount of interest she has to pay for her already massive student debt.

She pulled out her wallet and with a soft sigh, brought out her measly pay for the month as an administrative staff at a small office downtown. God, she's short by a few hundred dollars. She dropped everything on the table, closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. A dreary wail escaped her lips. She could feel another wave of headache coming and it made her slump down the seat.

_It's a hard knock life_.

She considered borrowing money from Lucy but quickly swatted the thought away. She hasn't paid her past debts she owes her, how would she pay her best friend after this?

She sat up and composed herself by slapping both hands on her cheeks. _You can do this, Maica. You're a strong, independent woman_. She pulled out her grocery list and searched for things to cross out, it wasn't that long anyway. She was considering crossing out coffee and milk when the doorbell rang. She dropped her list and frowned, who could that be at this hour? It was close to midnight and she was not expecting anyone.

She looked through the peephole when she reached the door.

A man stood there, she could not see his face very well, the baseball cap he wore cast a shadow over his countenance but she could see that the man had shoulder-length hair. When he faced forward and looked straight, Jamaica swore he saw her right through the door. Frowning, she opened it, but did not undo the chain bolt.

"Can I help you?" She asked warily. The man's tall and broadly built body loomed over the gap between the wall and the door. He did not speak but merely held out a piece of paper. It was a flyer she had printed months ago when she decided to rent out the room on the third floor. She thought the fee would help pay the bills but she had forgotten all about it, to be honest. Jamaica let out an apologetic smile. "Sorry, but it's only up for girls." She should have indicated that in the flyer, she internally groaned.

"I'll pay double."

"What?" She blinked at his counter. His voice was deep but raspy, like he has not spoken in a long time.

The man reached into his pocket, pulled out some bills, counted some then handed her $900. "Three months, doubled."

She stared at the offered amount. It would cover everything for this month and she would still have a couple left. She looked back at him and held up a finger. "Give me a second." She said then shut the door. _Okay_, she thought, _he does not look harmless… much. But this is Harlem; everyone's harmless until they become harmful_.

_But girl, you got some bills to pay and stomach to feed._

_Yeah, but I also love my life? Don't I?_

She scowled at herself because if she really loves her life she would not be having a dilemma right now. She would not even consider living with a stranger, let alone a man –no matter how devilishly handsome he looked –in the Brownstone.

_I did not just admit that he is hot._

_Yes, honey, you just did._

Well, who was she kidding? She's desperate, she needs the money. And if the guy murders Jamaica in her sleep it would be a win-win situation.

_No life, no bills, no debt, no problem._

Jamaica undid the chain bolt, cautiously opened the door and tried to look as calm and collected as possible. He stood there, money still in his hands, waiting for her response.

"You can have the room," She started. "But you don't have to double the pay. Just two months advance would be good." She stepped sideways to let him inside the house. He wore a red henley underneath a brown jacket, and on his left hand he wore a leather glove. A black backpack slung over his shoulder. He was looking around, probably surveying the house. Jamaica tried hard not to ogle at the stubble that painted his jawline nor his broad chest. She cleared her throat to distract herself. "So here's the living room, that's the kitchen over there," she gestured to her far left, "…and it may not look like it but that is the dining table." She explained. "Feel free to use everything, except my room, of course." A dry chuckle escaped her lips. It ended as soon as it started.

Jamaica's pathetic excuse of a joke went unnoticed. _Talk about awkward. _The man does not speak much it seemed. It kind of reminded her of her father. He was also a quiet man and he did not speak much.

"Where is the room?" The man asked when he turned back to face her.

"Third floor." Jamaica squeaked, mildly startled before composing herself once again. She led the way to the stairs, cautiously looking over her shoulder at the man trailing behind. "This is the bathroom," she pointed to the door on her left when they both reached the second floor. "There's only one so we'd have to share, and the room on the right is mine." He only nodded in response. An uncomfortable silence stretched as they trekked the remaining steps upstairs. When they finally reached the top floor, she led him inside the only room on it. "So, this'll be yours." She said as she opened the door and they both entered. He went further inside while Jamaica stayed by the door. "I have extra beddings you could use. When do you plan to move in, by the way?"

"Now." Once again, he handed her the $900 bills. And she took it unthinkingly, stunned at his answer.

"I'll, uhm, get the sheets." She offered uneasily, hands twirling the back hem of her shirt.

"No need." He retorted as he dropped his bag on the floor.

"Well, if you need anything I'll be downstairs."

"Just don't disturb me." He instructed as he walked towards her, an intense look in his eyes. Instinctively, Jamaica stepped back until she's out the room and the next thing she knew, the door slammed shut on her face –almost.

_Damn, he has blue eyes._

Those were her last thoughts before turning towards the stairs. She counted the money in her hands. Despite all the strangeness that occurred, the man occupying the room upstairs had inadvertently helped her. She then realized, she has not asked his name. Jamaica had half a mind to trudge back up and knock on his door but thought better, he seemed dead serious about not being disturbed. Instead she went back to the dining table and got back to business. The grocery list caught her eye and she smiled. Coffee and milk won't have to say goodbye. And she could add a bottle of conditioner too. _Maybe it wasn't that hard knock of a life._

_**July 17, 2020**_

It had been three days since Bucky arrived in Oakland. The last four years he spent in Wakanda had been blissful and quiet. Save for the goats he tended to and the Wakandan children he used to play with. Those were good times; he kind of missed them –goats included. Since his deprogramming, courtesy of the Wakandan Princess, his mind had never felt more his own. He himself had never felt freer. The cybernetic arm he got from Hydra -or what was left of it, since Tony Stark blasted it off of him- was long gone and replaced with prosthesis, designed by none other than Princess Shuri. Her brilliant mind had come up with an almost life-like arm. It looks like real skin and muscles and feels like it when touched.

"_I outdid myself on that one." Shuri beamed._

"_It's amazing." Bucky replied with a smile then cast a glance at Steve who stood by his hide. He flexed the newly attached prosthetic arm then frowned._

"_Something wrong, Buck?" Steve asked. His brows scrunched together._

_Almost immediately, Bucky let out a strained smile. "Nothing." He said to him then turned to Shuri, his smile wider this time. "It's fantastic, princess."_

Bucky never admitted it but no matter how real his new prosthesis looked, having it still felt like having his previous cybernetic arm. He could not get used to it, deep inside, he knew he would never get over the fact that he lost his arm. No prosthetics - cybernetic or not - could ever replace his original flesh and bones arm. And Bucky also knew that no matter how blissful the life in Wakanda is, he would never get used to it.

_It always ends in a fight_.

He remembered telling Steve back in Bucharest. Right now, he is fighting for redemption. He knew he cannot undo the things that he did but he knew as well that he could make the future better. Part of the reason he decided to come back to America is to make amends with Stark. It would not be easy but he has to do it. It did matter that Hydra had control of his mind but Bucky was tired of using that excuse to justify his actions. He is free of them now and would never again let the vile organization use him again. Not even with his reclamation.

Everything that he has, he owes it to Steve. He owes it to his undying loyalty. And to the Royal Family of Wakanda as well. T'Challa had been gracious enough to let him stay and heal in his kingdom. After being deprogrammed, the gravity of what he had done as the Winter Soldier came crashing down on him. It weighed him down physically and mentally. For weeks the blanket of despair suffocated him, he blamed himself. T'Challa had coaxed him into therapy and it helped.

Bucky knew he could never repay the King, no amount of money could equal the friendship and brotherhood he had received from him –and his family. So when T'Challa had voiced out his concern regarding the Outreach Center, Bucky found a way to extend help and be of use.

And here he is now, three days later.

When he first stepped foot in Oakland, in front of the Outreach Center, he knew his uneventful life had ended. What he did not expect was how eventful his first day would be. He met a kid who was sure Bucky was his 'Dada'. If that did not pique his interest then the fact that the kid's name is James did. And those deep set of blue eyes that matched his own really did it. Bucky had yet to meet the boy's mother who also worked at the Center, he would never admit it loudly but he was looking forward to it.

Bucky could not get past the playful jabs Sam threw at him about not having kissed a girl since the war. He knew he was a ladies' man back then. Hydra may have blended his mind and memories but Shuri's algorithm made sure he got them back. He just wasn't sure if he could execute it like he did back then.

_Rusty Bucky_. The Falcon teased.

Bucky had made it his mission to prove him wrong.


	3. Chapter 3

_**January 2014**_

"I'm with you til' the end of the line."

The words danced in his mind like a broken record player. When the blonde man said those words, something primal snapped within him. Bucky knew him but his befuddled Hydra-induced mind kept breaking off the connections and blurring out what little bit of memories he tried to conjure. The achingly familiar emotions he did not know he had erupted with all the fury of a long-dormant volcano coming to life. The man - Steve - took it all. But Bucky saved him; he pulled him from the river. He did not know why, all he knew was it felt wrong to watch him plummet to his death and do nothing about it. _I knew him._ But from when? From where? He called him Bucky, why? Who is he? Who am I?

So many questions ran through his mind but no answers came up. There was only one place where he could find it and he wasted no time to get there.

Bucky adjusted his cap, pulling it as far down as possible, before entering the Smithsonian Institution. The Captain America exhibit was packed with people. He blended well with museumgoers wanting to learn more about Super Soldier. At that moment, Bucky was one of them.

_Steven Grant Rogers. Brooklyn. Project Rebirth. Pre-serum. World War II. _

His eyes darted on the adjacent wall.

_**A Fallen Comrade. James Buchanan Barnes. Bucky. **_

Bucky's breath got caught up in his throat. He stared dumbfounded at the sight before him. He was best friends with the man he tried to kill. An image flashed in his mind, he was falling and the man… Steve, he looked helpless with his arm stretched out and face contorted in despair, his figure rapidly getting smaller.

_I fell of a train._

His heart raced uncomfortably at the thought, he felt suffocated. As if struck by lightning, he jolted from his position and bolted to the nearest exit, carelessly bumping off a few strangers on the way.

The cold morning breeze in D.C. gradually cleared his head. Despite the unending questions of identity running in his mind, Bucky stood there with a determined look in his face. New York would be the perfect place on his journey to self-rediscovery. It was after all, where he was born.

Three days later, he found himself standing in front of an old Brownstone in the quiet part of Harlem. He had been roaming the Burroughs of New York, stopping for a few hours at small bed and breakfasts that he could find nearest to him. He travelled mindlessly until one night, when he trudged the silent street to god knows where, the soft sound of jazz reached his ears. The nostalgic music took him on a brief trip down memory lane. There were girls, and dancing, and… and Steve. _His best friend_. Bucky's eyes darted to his left, to where the sound was coming from. Next thing he knew, he was knocking on the door, flyer in hand. His action only truly dawned on him when he finally stood inside the room he had rented out. It was roughly bare, save for the bed, a bedside table and a closet as tall as him. The flooring is made of wood, and walls are painted with an off-white color.

Unsure of what to do, he let himself fall on the bed before him, not minding the absence of bed covers. Exhaustion finally got to him, and with the mellow tune coming from downstairs; he let himself get lulled to sleep.

Bucky groggily opened his eyes the next day. He bolted upright, his mind figuring out where he was. He relaxed as soon he recalled the events from last night then glanced outside the window; it must have already been late in the morning. Bucky cleared his thoughts then stood up to go downstairs. He was met with silence and figured out he was alone in the house. When he reached the kitchen he saw a note on the dining table, it was from the woman.

_Hi, new housemate :) I'm at work and wouldn't be back until late. Make yourself at home. There's food in the fridge. _

_PS. I brought out the bed covers you can use. It's on the sofa. _

_-Maica_

Bucky turned towards the sofa where the said beddings lay. His blue eyes then darted on the far-left corner and landed on a turntable, a shelf of vinyl records stood beside it. Impulsively, Bucky strode towards it and ran his fingers along the glass covering the device. A memory flickered at the back of his mind; he was listening to music with Steve, it was from a Broadway musical they have watched. He closed his eyes and willed himself to remember more. But the memory was gone as soon as it came.

The week went by in a blur. Bucky had not seen the woman who welcomed him since he moved in, which was his choice. Yet every day, he always gets brief notes from her, mostly about coming home late from work. Bucky would spend his time sitting by her sofa, having worked his way around the turntable, listening to the records she owned. Some he knew from his time, which greatly helped him recover bits and pieces of who he was, and some foreign to his ears. By the time the sun went down, he would pack it up and go back upstairs to his room. The faint clanking of the keys letting him know that she –Maica –is home.

The next day, as Bucky took the steps downstairs, faint voices reached his ears. Instinctively, his body went full alert at the thought of other people being in the house. By the time he reached the lower staircase, he saw her propped on the sofa eyes glued on the tv. It was where the voices are coming from and Bucky let out the breath he held. She must have sensed his presence for she turned towards his direction, eyes wide.

"H-hey." She greeted, frantically standing up.

Bucky only nodded his head in response, uncertain of what to do, he stood there rooted between the steps. She approached the staircase and stood at the bottom, looking up at him with a small smile.

"I didn't get your name last time. I'm Jamaica Coleman, by the way." She introduced herself.

Bucky gulped then cleared his throat. "James Buchanan." He replied briskly.

With that, she beamed at him. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Buchanan."

"Just James."

"Alright." She nodded then brought her hands together in a clap, as if suddenly remembering something. "Oh, I made chicken noodle soup! Come on, let's eat. I'll set the table."

Before Bucky could react and decline her offer, she was out of his sight, headed towards the kitchen. Bucky sighed and decided it would not hurt to share breakfast -or early lunch, he corrected himself as he glanced at the clock- with his landlady.

"Right." She spoke as she held a pot of the said soup, mittens covering her hands, and gingerly placed it on the table. She gestured for him to sit down on one of the chairs. Bucky took the left seat beside hers. "We could go over the housemate rules and regs as we eat, if that's fine with you." She started. Bucky did not make a move to eat and she must have noticed it. "Don't you like soup?" She asked.

Bucky wanted to say no it was not the soup. He would very much like to eat it. It was just it had been so long, so damn long since he had a normal interaction with people. It had been so long since he felt this kind of normalcy in his life. The last fifty years, it was nothing but emptiness, eyes devoid of life, blood on his hands, and the mechanical whir, and the pain that came with it. And then after that, oblivion. It was a vicious cycle he never knew he was in. Until the man on the bridge called him Bucky.

"James." She called out, voice distraught. His gaze snapped back at her, she was on edge, leaning towards him, hand outstretched. "Are you okay? You're hyperventilating."

"I'm fine." Bucky assured her. And true enough, he was hyperventilating and willed himself to calm down. She looked doubtful at first but a few seconds later, when she saw that his breathing went back to normal, she relaxed back on her seat but still eyed him worriedly.

Bucky was relieved when she let it slide, going back to her talk of the 'rules and regs' she had mentioned earlier, which at the end only consisted of Bucky not going to her room and her not going to his room. Because (apparently) like him, she does not have much friends that could come over and throw parties with.

"So, leather gloves. Bringin' out the MJ in you, huh?" She pointed at his gloved hand.

Bucky tensed at her statement yet at the same time got confused. "MJ?" He asked.

She looked at him open-mouthed. Bucky could see shock and disbelief blending on her face. He frowned at her reaction. "James. Please don't tell you've never heard of him."

"I haven't?"

She let out a dramatic gasp and Bucky thought she was being a little too over the top. "That's so unacceptable." She wailed then abruptly stood up, making her way towards the turntable. "Today, you're gonna learn."

Bucky sat there, eyes glued on her back as she rummaged through her records collection. He saw how her face lit up in delight as she pulled out what seemed to be she was looking for and then carefully placed it on the player. The sound of throbbing drums and synthetic music bounced of the walls. She went back to her seat beside him, head bobbing and shoulders popping in sync with the beat.

He could not deny that the song is catchy but his reserved self remained still and quiet as she started singing the verse. "She was more like a beauty queen from a movie scene…" she trailed of as she took a sip of the soup. Bucky did the same, scooping a spoonful of chicken broth then bringing it to his lips. The hot liquid spread over his taste buds. He remembered having one when he was much much younger. He was sick and his mother had cooked for him chicken noodle soup because he would not eat anything else.

"How was it?" She asked expectantly.

Bucky looked at her with a small smile it was barely visible. "The best I've had since." He said then immediately noticed the blush that painted her cheeks.

"Thanks." She replied then cleared her throat. "So, the song's Billie Jean…" he almost **almost** chuckled at her attempt to change the subject. He let it slide and contently listened to her educating him about the King of Pop.

_**July 20, 2020**_

Jamaica let out a tired yawn. It had been a long day. Since the King's arrival, it seemed the pace in the Center doubled. Everyone got busier and workload came a lot faster. But still, she managed to do everything that was due today so all was good. She started packing up, getting ready to leave. James is at the playground with the kids and she will soon be on her way to fetch him.

As she neared the playground she could see James running around and playing with other kids. He gets along with other children very well. It was something she was glad of. Jamaica wants him to enjoy his childhood as much as possible, make as many friends as he could. She did not approach her son nor call him, opting to just sit on a bench nearby, content in watching him hop and run. She could see he was very much enjoying himself. It was only after a few minutes when James finally saw her.

"Mama!" He exclaimed and immediately dashed towards his mom.

"Hello, little doll." She met him with a hug, the sweat on his forehead from running too much clung on her blouse. "Having fun?" Her son nodded eagerly in response, his smile never faltering.

Suddenly, his eyes lit up when he saw someone behind her. "Dada." He muttered.

"Dada?" Jamaica asked confused.


End file.
